Closet
by radiany
Summary: [for DigiDreamerLiss] Ryou keeps writing, even when there's nothing left. [BakuraRyou, AmaneRyou; starring pen, paper, and letters never sent] Part Two of the World Domination vignettes.


**Dedication **DigiDreamerLiss

**Why **I was partially inspired by "Paint"; this is a very poor imitation of an apology; Liss?! Where did you go?!

**Labels **shonen-ai hints; incest; het hints; partial insanity; denial; repetition; OOC; death; drabble; oneshot; pg

**[beforehand]**

Inspired and based off, once more, Aja's "Famous Last Words." I, once again, use Ryou as the victim. This is the beginning [prequel] and Part Two to the World Domination series/vignettes.

Liss! Where are you?! Are you well?! What happened?! Did someone hack your account?! Liss! -frenzy-

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**Closet**

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He's shut himself in the closet again.

Someone shakes their head, and they're all murmuring in an uneasy clash of silence.

_the poor dear he's completely lost it what to do what to do there's nothing we can do for him _

_there's nothing left to do._

Their voices strike the closet door and seep through the closet wood and bathe the closet walls despite all their caution. But he doesn't care.

He isn't listening.

The only sound reaching his ears is _scritch__ scratch scritch scratch_ – the way his pen scrapes against the coarse wooden floor. Grainy text appears, if only faintly, as he shuffles backwards on the ground; as he writes.

They had taken the paper away a long time ago, after searching the closet's nooks and crannies for any existence of his letters.

They hadn't found a thing.

They just didn't search hard enough – not that he would approve, of course. Those letters were meant for Amane.

To see.

To read.

To understand.

So he had hidden them in a place where they would never look, and wondered, watched, waited for Amane's reply with his heart beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear a thing.

_please find me please save me please hold me please take me please help me you're the only one that knows _

_please._

She never came.

Weeks had passed before they'd taken his pencils too; they did not understand why he would ever need to use them if there was nothing to write on. Soon, there was the last remaining pen. He'd snatched it and held it to his chest like a memory. They let him keep it.

First, he'd been baffled, because for once, it was true. What could he write on?

He looked around.

He found the wood.

He started writing again, amused by how the lines in the floor could help mark a "t," or perhaps finish an "o." Words pour like water from his fingers, spilling to the ground in neat layers (he's always been a bit of a perfectionist – Amane once told him that).

He writes about death, about war, about blood, about sex, about running away. When he reaches love, he pauses.

Sometimes he stops and reads them (he's always adapted to the dark with not a lot of difficulty – Amane once told him that).

They all end with "love, yadounshi."

Somehow, he's not surprised.

They never drag him from the closet – not physically anyway.

If they're truly desperate – if only to get him to eat, to sleep, to move around – then they usually knock first before asking.

He always says "no, thank you" (he's too courteous for his own good – Bakura tells him that) before he continues to print his letters upon the walls.

This is not always the case.

The door flings open, slamming on the outer walls before protesting with its hinges. He does not look, but he can't help wincing when he is grabbed by his shoulders and dragged out toward light.

It blinds him.

There's a soft, soft purr – so soft and so dark and it scares him. Silken fingers grip his jaw and he is forced to look up into dark violet eyes so bright that it's poison.

There's a hand stroking through his hair, but he isn't scared.

_you can't have them they're not yours you can't read them they're not yours they're his only he can read them only he will know_

Pain flushes throughout his body when the fingers tighten in a hardened grip, but Ryou doesn't acknowledge it.

"Take him away."

He is being dragged along the floor, limbs faded and worn like one's rag doll. The pen has long since fallen from his grasp and into burning letters. As he is flung from the building to the bodies below, ashes drift from his fingers and smoke feathers the air.

It is the color of dust.

**fin.**

**[afterward]**

Finished June 30th, 2004.

Written and modified in 58 minutes.

656 words.

Things I have used: _ashes to ashes, dust to dust_. A different way to look at light [the "mystery" character is obviously Yami no Malik]. The word "yadounshi," which is what Bakura calls Ryou [and technically, if I'm correct, means "landlord"].

This is out of tune [very], and doesn't correspond with "Numbers"…Let's just say that Bakura and Ryou have separate bodies but still die on the same day. Work with me? Please? –sigh- I apologize for confusing Schuldich-muse –sw-.

**endlog[9:50 pm]**


End file.
